The familiar voice froze Stella in her tracks. She turned toward the source of the sound, finding Weston standing near a flowerbed. A lush camphor tree stood beside him, its emerald leaves casting layered shadows across his face. The summer air was warm, but wherever Weston was, the atmosphere always seemed heavy and tense, as if he carried an unsettling weight with him.
As he slowly approached, Stella couldn’t help but notice the raw magnetism of his presence. His looks were impeccable, the very lines of his shoulders and jawline making him seem almost otherworldly. Even without speaking, his aura dominated the space around him.
When Weston reached them, his gaze fell onto Henry’s hand, still gripping Stella’s wrist. His eyes darkened as he spoke with a cold, mocking edge, “Have you gotten desperate after being in a wheelchair for so long and never met any women lately?”
Stella couldn’t suppress the anger that welled up inside her. She jerked her arm away from Henry’s grasp. “Weston!” she snapped, her voice thick with emotion.
She had tried to control her temper, but Weston’s presence, his words, triggered something in her. Yet, he only glanced at her nonchalantly, as if he didn’t care about the frustration he had stirred.
“Hm?” Weston’s response was as indifferent as ever.
Seeing his nonchalant expression, Stella forced herself to calm down. She met his gaze steadily, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Looks like Mr. Ford understands his friend well.”
Her tone was light, but the sting in her words was clear. “Since Mr. Ford understands him well enough to know he’s not desperate enough to pick someone like me, I’m curious. Why are Mr. Ford’s standards so much lower than Mr. Moore’s? Or has Mr. Ford always been this desperate?”
Stella’s sarcasm was sharp. Henry, only standing beside her, hadn’t even had a chance to do anything, but Weston had just called him desperate. What about Weston’s actions toward her? Those had been far worse, yet he still had the audacity to judge others.
Weston raised an eyebrow, sensing the underlying bitterness in her words. “You seem to have complaints about me.”
During their marriage, Weston had grown used to Stella’s quiet demeanor, her passive acceptance. He wasn’t accustomed to hearing her speak with such edge.
Stella’s eyes darkened, and her lips curled into a small, cynical smile. “I wouldn’t dare. Mr. Ford has provided me accommodation and paid for Roger’s medical bills. I’m very grateful to him.”
She took a step back, her voice soft but firm. “I have something to attend to, so I won’t disturb you two. Goodbye.”
Weston remained unaffected, his expression impassive as he watched her walk away. He didn’t seem to mind her departure in the slightest.
Henry, pushing his wheelchair, watched Stella leave with a smile curling on his lips. “Looks like she’s really just a toy to pass time. No wonder I’ve never heard you mention her or seen you take her out to meet us, even after all this time. She’s so easy to dismiss.”
“Guinevere didn’t disappoint me after all,” Weston said, his voice dark with cynicism. “She’s quick to defend her territory.”
Weston reached for a cigarette but paused when he remembered where he was. With a huff, he let the cigarette slip back into his pocket.
Henry, still in his wheelchair, turned to him with a slightly raised eyebrow. “How long do you plan to stay in this wheelchair?”
“What’s the hurry?” Henry replied casually, his posture relaxed. “It’s only for a few years. I’ve gotten used to life in a wheelchair now.”
Weston’s voice grew colder. “Don’t tell me you plan to stay crippled if she doesn’t come back.”
The mockery in Weston’s tone cut through the air. Henry’s demeanor shifted immediately. His usual carefree aura disappeared, replaced by a sudden flash of hostility. Despite the ethereal calm he often exuded, Henry was someone who could inspire fear in the most powerful people of Ahn City. Only Weston could jab at him so ruthlessly, striking where it hurt the most.
Henry paused, letting his usual indifference settle back into place as he looked at Weston. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
Weston raised an eyebrow. “Spill.”
“You spoil and pamper Guinevere so much. So why did you suddenly go off and marry another woman?” Henry asked, his curiosity piqued. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to use her to irritate Guinevere. Putting aside the fact that you’re not the type to do something so childish, there are plenty of other ways to get under Gwen’s skin. She’s so proud, you could easily accomplish the same thing by starting a scandal with some random celebrity. Why did you choose to marry this woman instead?”
For a long time, Weston remained silent, and Henry thought he wouldn’t get an answer. But then, Weston spoke, his voice low and emotionless.
“The reason isn’t important. It’s all over now.”
The balmy summer weather seemed to amplify Stella’s discomfort. As she walked, she felt a sharp pain in her chest, the memory of Weston’s presence still heavy in her mind. She had known he didn’t love her, and now that he had decided on a divorce, it was clear he wouldn’t be gentle with her anymore. He had someone else in his heart, someone who mattered more than she ever had.
Would she feel reluctant? Would she have agreed to marry him if she had known she was just a stepping stone in his relationship with Guinevere? Perhaps, in a moment of desperation, she might have agreed to marry him for financial security. But she would never have fallen for him. At least, not the way she had. Weston had made her believe in his care and tenderness, but now she realized it had all been a lie.
As Stella walked, lost in thought, she tried to hail a cab but was unsuccessful. It wasn’t a busy time of day, but no taxis seemed to be available.
After a few more steps, a sleek black luxury car rolled up beside her. Stella pretended not to notice and kept walking, hoping to catch a cab on her own.
The car, however, slowed down to match her pace, and the window rolled down to reveal Weston’s face. His features were sharp and beautiful, his expression impassive as he stared at her.
“Get in,” he said, his voice cold and commanding.
Stella frowned, irritation rising in her chest. “No need. I can get a cab myself.”
Weston’s gaze remained unflinching. “Get in. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
His tone left no room for argument, cold and final.
Skip to content